


My Own Mind

by wreathed



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude, between Take A Break and Say No To This: an argument that Eliza and Angelica do not get to have elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Own Mind

The carriage ride has been the longest the journey to Albany has ever felt. On the final day of travel, Eliza, amidst a slight headache, closes her eyes. Still, the swaying of the carriage remains, as does the noise of Angelica talking to the children about topics designed to pique their interest. She is nevertheless grateful for their attention being diverted to their aunt, as this means that she is not presently required to include herself. There would be plenty of time to converse come their arrival at Catherine Street.

She is thinking of her husband. Her husband, who is not here. Her husband, who had humiliated her in front of her sister, a betrayal that was only softened by the fact that he had humiliated her sister as well. Angelica had, after all, crossed the Atlantic Ocean from England to America to see Alexander, a rather more impressive distance than Eliza crossing the hallway from the kitchen to the study.

When the tumult of arrival has died down and the children are in bed, it is Angelica not Alexander who joins Eliza in sitting on the grass by the lake, as far away from the house as they can realistically manage. Angelica had told Eliza of her views on their fledgling congress the whole walk over. It is dark, but they take a lamp, and in its light Angelica looks so well and commanding of attention, even after the trials of a transatlantic crossing. The sweet, dry smell of spring about to turn to summer fills the air. Eliza is happy to see Angelica. There is just so much she wants to say.

“Angelica, are you well?” Eliza asks, after a few more moments of silence. “Is John well?”

“You have already asked me that,” Angelica says, smiling slightly, but not in a way that is entirely in happiness. “Several times on this journey. Have we truly depleted all topics of conversation? Especially as your letters are not as onerously lengthy as mine, I would have thought you would have much to tell.”

The tension that Eliza had felt during the days of the journey upstate has not left her, she finds. If they are to have an enjoyable summer, she owes her sister more than the polite staples of conversation she has managed so far, squeezed into the moments where Angelica pauses for breath. Now, at last, they are quite alone.

“I am angry at Alexander,” Eliza says simply. “Even your arrival has not persuaded him to join us here. Does he truly care for the joy of the children so little?”

“When I last wrote to him, he seemed delighted at the idea of accompanying us,” Angelica says, and Eliza presses her lips together. “Of course he loves your children, and I am disappointed also, but I have thought about it further as we have traveled up here, and I have thought back to what I have told Alexander about working hard to get congress to agree with him. What he is carrying out, that is for _everyone's_ children; America's descendants far into the future. It made me think of what Mr. Jeremy Bentham has written: that the correct course of action should be decided upon by whatever is the greatest happiness for the greatest number.”

Eliza frowns. She does not much like it when Angelica explains things to her. Her tone manages to be patronizing, and in this instance she seems to know much more about Alexander’s work than she does herself - Alexander does not go into great detail about his work to her when she is not needed for dictation. Angelica cannot see, she thinks, that he will forgo living his whole life for a legacy he cannot live to know. Rightly, there should be a greater balance.

“You are so good to be so self-sacrificing,” Eliza says. She reaches down, twists a handful of grass into her hand and pulls it up.

“We have all made sacrifices,” Angelica says carefully, although she is beginning to sound troubled. Good, Eliza thinks, with an uncharacteristic savageness. Angelica is not the only one who can engage in linguistic exercises of implication. “Alexander writes of you and the children often in his letters, I assure you.”

The letters again; it makes something within her snap. “Does he?” Eliza says, her voice rising as they sit by the still, dark water. “He does not let me see your letters! What could you possibly be writing to him that means he does not let me see your letters?”

In the low light, Angelica turns away from her, her confident delivery unusually depleted. “You are aware, I hope, of how important you are to me, and that I hold your husband in high regard, especially intellectually–”

Eliza cannot mirror Angelica’s lowered tone. “If you were not single-minded enough to throw away your duty in order to marry him yourself, which from my position I am forced to applaud, then our marriage is _not_ your consolation prize.”

Still, Angelica, a woman of such strong convictions, does not raise her voice, which makes Eliza angrier still. “Nothing incriminating has been penned. Written correspondence is the best outlet possible without causing you real harm,” she says. “I moved away in part to ensure your own happiness, in that you would never be concerned that I would be a present temptation.”

“And yet you return. In the eyes of Alexander, I cannot match your eloquence or your novelty.” She can feel the strain in her jaw from her shouting. It feels cathartic; she could have never written these things, could never have accused Angelica when she was so far away.

At last, Angelica looks concerned. “Eliza. Please, calm yourself. There is no woman Alexander loves more than you. I have never seen you so angry!"

“Is that not a surprise?” Her voice breaks, and still Angelica is relatively impervious. “You do not let me be so! Like Alexander, you are too wayward, and I am forced to be measured and accommodating! You would never have married so well if we were poorer! You are lucky that John allows you to be so masculine in your engagements and your correspondence!”

Now, Angelica seethes, although her voice remains low. “Lucky, am I? I married John because he has no power over me, emotionally or otherwise.” Despite her previous intention to rile her, Eliza’s conviction falters. “There is nothing I do not let you do. You are quite free to be as wayward and _masculine_ as you like. If I hadn't let you marry Alexander…”

Angelica trails off. The lantern burns the last of its oil and the light goes out.

“‘Let me?’” Eliza says quietly. “‘Let me?’”

“I did not mean that,” Angelica says from the darkness.

“It is just as well you could not have married him.” Eliza says, with less venom than she would have liked to project. “He would not survive a week with you. You would burn each other both away. A pair of Icaruses, racing each other to the sun.”

Angelica does not reply. She sits silent, stunned, or else taken with the image. Eliza can never tell with Angelica.

“Well, as you say, he is not here, with me or with you,” Eliza says, feeling suddenly very tired indeed. “Perhaps he loves neither of us.”

“Eliza,” Angelica says, in a gentle tone that softens the whole of her in a way that is such a contrast to her usual self that it stops short of comforting. “I know he loves you. The work is of national importance, and will long outlast either of you, but you will always be there whenever he needs you. That is all his decision to stay in the city is.”

A flare of anger forms inside her, but Eliza knows this is simply Angelica’s whole world view, and that she means well, and so Eliza chooses to take a deep breath and hold her thoughts in, chooses to embrace Angelica in the place they grew up together, praying that forgiveness will come to her lightly when she returns home.

**Author's Note:**

> *opening notes of Say No To This*
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://wreathedwith.tumblr.com/).


End file.
